


someone to admire

by something1d



Series: i'll still be your fool [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Sequel, different POV, it makes me wonder, larry stylinson - Freeform, sort of, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2180136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/something1d/pseuds/something1d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you get when you mix an unexciting, overly normal person with a boy who is, in essence, the reincarnation of Adonis?<br/>Well. </p><p>~larry stylinson, high school au~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this is a sequel, but it isn't at the same time; it's "it makes me wonder" told in a different point of view. The order in which you read the two stories does NOT matter. You can only choose to read one, you can read both, you can read this one before the other, you can read the other before this one, or you can read them side by side in a chapter-by-chapter way. Again, the order DOESN'T matter, so you can mix it up in whichever way you like. Whatever you decide to do, I hope you like this story (or the other one, or both), and if you decide to read both, I hope you enjoy the twists that the different povs create :)
> 
> Copyright © 2014 by something1d, all rights reserved.

On the first day of school, Harry is blindsided. Quite literally.

Thus far, Harry's basically thought that he knows anything and everything that anyone needs to know about his school. He's got a pretty big group of friends, and always has, really. He's always loved putting himself out there, being in the middle of everything, and as a result, he's learned quite a few things. The bottom line is, though, he's not usually the person to get surprised very easily. 

It's funny, though, how quickly things change. 

Harry had expected for this year to be the same as the years before. Boring. The usual. 

How very wrong he is.

****

"And she fucking pounced on him, H, it was fucking ridiculous. But I feel like we should have seen all of that coming, honestly, shit always goes down at Alex's parties."

Harry laughs, grinning at Nick. "Of course she did. God, I wish I could've seen that."

"Yeah, why weren't you there?"

Harry shrugs. "I think I had some family thing to do, or something."

Nick nods slowly, and then pats Harry on the back. "Alright H, I'm gonna run to the bathroom. See you in a sec."

Harry mumbles his assent and turns the corner, seeing the classroom door propped open and hearing loud chatter coming from inside. He feels the smile slowly spreading across his face; despite the fact that school can be irritating and stressful, he's excited to come back and see everyone again, talk to new people, get back into the rhythm of things. He's never been one to like sitting around and doing nothing, and school definitely keeps him busy. 

When he walks inside, he realizes that the teacher has already started talking. Stevens, his name is, sends Harry a quick glare, and Harry cringes. He mouths a quick 'sorry' and joins the clump in the back of the room. 

Stevens points to the first row on the right side of the room and starts listing names so loudly that he's almost shouting. "Abrams, Styles, Tomlinson, Payne."

Harry looks at him confusedly until he sees people start to walk toward the row and sit down, and oh, he's seating people. Okay then.

He starts making his way to the row, but stops in his tracks when he sees a boy squeeze in between two desks that were particularly close together, and make his way towards one of the seats in Harry's row. Luckily, everyone's too busy paying attention to Stevens shouting out names to notice that Harry's kind of paralyzed.

The boy is small, incredibly tiny, and Harry kind of wants to salivate over how his tight black jeans hug his muscular thighs. He's got shaggy brown hair that's currently hanging over the left side of his face, and he's wearing a red t-shirt that hangs just right over his curvy frame, in such a way that Harry can't help but lick his lips. 

But then the boy drops his backpack and goes to sit down, and right when Harry thought this boy couldn't get any more attractive, he pushes his fringe out of his face, and Harry is floored. 

Bright blue eyes sting into Harry's retinas, and his mind is suddenly taken over by tan skin, a pixie nose, and pink, pink lips. Who is this person? How the fuck has he never seen him before?

Here Harry is, thinking he knows all there is to know about his school, and then this literal fucking model shows up in his fucking classroom and he has no fucking idea who the fucking hell he is. 

Harry forces his legs to start moving again, hoisting the strap of his backpack more securely onto his shoulder. He notes that this boy is sitting right behind where Harry's own seat is supposed to be, and his lip turns up in a tiny smirk. Perfect. 

As he makes his way down the row, he sees that the boy's backpack happens to be sitting in the middle of the row, and he bites his lip. Could he use that as an excuse? Or would that be too obvious?

He glances over to where Stevens is nearing the last row in the classroom, and pouts. He hasn't got much time.

Fuck it. He's going for it. 

He stands in front of the backpack and clears his throat. "Excuse me, sorry."

Harry swears that he sees the boy's shoulders slump in a sigh, his shoulderblades moving underneath his red t-shirt -- but no. He can't get distracted. This is important.

The boy turns around slowly, fringe dusting his eyelashes, makes eye contact with Harry, and lets out a tiny gasp. 

Harry holds back the urge to smile. Does that mean what he thinks it means?

The boy looks him up and down, and Harry waits patiently. He really shouldn't be as happy about this as he is. 

Then, the boy's gaze finds Harry's face again. Harry widens his eyes, and the boy seems to come back to life, sputtering. It's fucking adorable, is what it is. 

"Hi," the boy squeaks, and Harry uses every muscle in his fucking body to stop himself from giggling like a thirteen year old. He opts for scratching the back of his neck instead. "Uh, your bag. It's, um, kind of in the middle here."

The boy nearly jumps in surprise and looks down at his backpack, and his mouth falls open ever so slightly. Harry can't stop looking at his lips. "Oh, sorry," he mumbles, leaning down to drag his backpack off to the side. 

Harry smiles at him. "No worries," he says in as cheery of a tone as he can manage, and quickly scuttles over to his seat. 

He resists the urge to turn around the second he sits down, because that would be creepy, wouldn't it? He really wants to, though, wants to turn and see if the boy is still looking at him, to talk to the boy, to ask for his fucking name. The tension in the air is so thick that Harry can feel it tingling over his skin, that it almost hurts. 

But then.

"Harry!" he hears Nick's voice call from the door, and he whips around quickly, trying to keep his eyes trained on the door and away from the boy's face. "Nick! How you been buddy?" he says happily, and he really wants to see the boy's reaction but he is not allowed to look. 

Nick gives him a weird look, as if to say 'I only went to the bathroom you idiot, not like you haven't seen me in forever' but luckily doesn't question it out loud. Instead, he walks over and claps Harry on the back. "Ready for season?"

Harry sends Nick a wink. "You know it!"

He then sees Nick's eyes flicker over to somewhere behind him, and he gets this look on his face, a look that Harry is very familiar with. 

See, Nick is very particular about who he hangs out with. Some people think he's kind of a jerk for it, but Nick's nice enough to Harry, so Harry doesn't really care. He is a bit of a snob though, to be completely honest. And he doesn't really like to interact with people who aren't in his group of friends. 

So Harry's not surprised to see that look on Nick's face. He is surprised, though, when Nick says, "Hey Louis, long time no see!"

And then Harry realizes that he's talking to the boy behind him, and he whips around. 

The boy's cheeks are a faint pink, and he's looking at Nick with an unreadable look in his eyes. Harry can't help but notice that his bone structure is absolutely fucking perfect, his cheekbones cutting through the air like knives. Harry wants to touch them. Is that strange?

Then he realizes that Nick's masked irritation is directed at the boy -- Louis, and the name is familiar-- and he feels something defensive bubble up in his chest. 

He tries to shake himself out of it. He doesn't even know this boy, and no matter how cute his name is (it's just as cute as he himself, really, and he's pretty darn cute and small and pixie-like; need he say anything more?), he shouldn't be feeling this way about someone he hasn't even spoken to. 

Then the boy speaks, and Harry feels like someone's pitched him off the edge of a cliff. "Hi Nick," he says, and holy fuck, his voice. It's raspy but high pitched at the same time, and Harry feels his body shudder; Louis is an earthquake, is the epicenter, and Harry's just been hit by his waves.

No. No more. Harry stiffly turns his body back around to face Nick, and refuses to let himself continue thinking about this. No. This is bullshit. He's fine, he's unaffected. This isn't real. 

Stevens then starts talking about who the fuck knows what, and Nick silently slithers over to his seat. Harry chews on the end of his pen, trying to ignore the magnetic pull coming from somewhere behind him; he resolutely decides that it's not caused by Louis, he's just really bored and needs to get out of the room is all. 

The bell rings, and Harry sighs in relief. He tucks his pen behind his ear, and turns around to start walking, but stops for a split second when he sees that Louis' already left his seat. His eyes search the room and he finds Louis a little ways away, talking to a blonde boy Harry knows is Niall Horan. 

Harry tries to shove the uncomfortable -- jealous? -- feeling down into his gut, and doesn't think about it. 

He doesn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry is convinced that the universe likes to laugh right in his fucking face. 

He's in Spanish, his last class of the day -- which he has with Drew, and that's awesome, because Drew's always a good laugh -- and he's honestly, completely relaxed. He's always been alright at Spanish, and it's always been an easy class for him to relax in, to not be uptight. 

But then Louis walks in, and all of that is thrown out the window.

He'd been pretty good at not thinking about Louis for the rest of that first day of school, as he didn't have any other classes with him. He had assumed that he'd just have history with Louis, and Harry could handle that, right? One hour a day in the presence of someone like Louis wouldn't be too stressful. 

But now he's got to see him twice a day, and he's torn between feeling elated and frustrated.

As soon as Louis steps foot through the door, Harry's heart clenches. His hair is tousled from the slight breeze outside, and his bright blue eyes are flitting about the classroom, taking everything in. Harry then realizes that he's doing that stupid thing again where he's (creepily) more attracted to him than he should be, and turns back to Drew, pretending to nod at what he's saying. 

He bites his lip. Is it bad to hope that Louis will end up sitting near him, like in history?

The bell rings, and Ms. Felise addresses them all with a smile. "I'm sorry that I didn't let you guys sit down when you walk in," she says, gesturing to the way they're clumped in one corner of the room. "I just thought it'd be easier, because I've assigned you all seats anyways. I wouldn't want you to sit down and get comfortable only for me to make you move, that'd be a waste of time." Some of the students mumble in assent, but Harry is too busy trying to not look at Louis. 

"Alright, so in this first row," she says, narrowing her eyes at her sheet of paper and pointing to the row nearest the far wall, "We've got Harry, Louise, Drew, Louis, and..."

Harry doesn't hear the rest of her sentence. His ears start ringing as soon as Ms. Felise says Louis' name. 

Louis is already walking over to his seat, dropping his backpack and swooping his shaggy fringe off to the side. Harry swallows thickly. Fucking hell. 

Harry slowly walks over to his row, not seeing the weird look that Lou Teasdale is giving him. He's openly staring at Louis, because right now, he can't fucking help it -- Louis' slumped over in his seat, looking exhausted in the most beautiful way Harry's ever seen an exhausted person look.

"H, what're you looking at?" Lou says suddenly.

Harry jumps. He coughs, and then lets out a quiet (nervous) laugh. His eyes flit over to Louis again, only to see that Louis' looking straight back at him, and Harry quickly looks away, ignoring the acceleration of his pulse. "Nothing, nothing. It's no big deal."

Lou turns around and leans off to the side, and when she looks back at Harry, she's smirking. Harry feels his heart drop in his chest. 

"Louis Tomlinson?" she says quietly, and Harry scowls. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Awww," she coos, "You're blushing, Harry! You like him, don't you?"

"No," Harry snaps, "I haven't even spoken to him. You can't like someone if you don't know them, Louise. Duh."

Lou wrinkles her nose at his use of her full name, and shrugs. "You think he's cute though, don't you?"

Harry hesitates, and Lou laughs. "Knew it! Don't blame you though, look at him. If he weren't gay, I'm sure every girl at this fucking school would be all over him."

Harry jolts. "Gay? He's gay?"

Lou nods slowly, as if it's common knowledge. Harry's lips twitch, but he refuses to let himself smile. "Oh. That's. That's cool, you know."

Lou rolls her eyes. "Sure, whatever. Anyways, when you stop being in denial, just know that you can talk to me about him if you'd like, yeah?"

"I won't need to," Harry sing-songs. He turns back around in his seat to face Ms. Felise, who's just begun talking to the class, and ignores the loud thumping of his heart.

****

September

****

Harry is a failure as a person. 

It's been fucking weeks and he still hasn't built up the nerve to talk to Louis yet. Hasn't even said a simple "hi."

But, it's not like he's trying to do anything, like, he only wants to maybe have a tiny conversation with him, and it's only because he's hot. It ends there. 

The point, though, is that he's seen all kinds of Louis; he's seen sleep-soft Louis, Vogue model Louis, lazy Louis, bored Louis -- let it not be said that Harry Styles does not pay attention in class (though, what he pays attention to might not always be the class itself) -- and he's convinced that Louis gets more and more gorgeous every day. This backfires though, because every time he sees Louis, it's almost as if he gets more and more nervous to talk to him. 

The worst part is that Louis' as unreadable as a fucking brick wall. Harry will look at him, or make eye contact with him, and not have the slightest idea as to what he's thinking. It's always blank.

He wants to see him smile. 

****

Ms. Felise tells the class that they're going to play a game with Spanish-speaking countries and capitals, and Harry sits up straighter in his seat. He's always loved playing games in Spanish -- or anywhere really -- if only because he can get really competitive.

Ms. Felise announces the splitting up of the teams, and Harry turns around to face Lou. He notices Louis watching him though, and his smile gets bigger. "Lessgo! Team one for the win!" he says, fist-pumping, and Lou rolls her eyes at him. 

"Harry, we'll start with you," Ms. Felise says. "Pick two cards."

"Ummm," he says slowly, pursing his lips. "Okay. Three and...seven."

She flips the cards over and lets out a disappointed sigh. "They don't match up, Buenos Aires is not the captial of Chile. Good try though!" Harry pouts.

Eventually, they're coming down to the end of the game, and it's Louis' turn. Harry resists the urge to turn around when he hears Louis' soft voice choosing cards four and nine, keeping his gaze trained on the projected screen instead. 

When the answers end up matching, their team cheers -- and Harry can't help but join in. "CLUTCH! LOUIS IS CLUTCH!"

He turns around to look at him, and Louis' got a surprised -- albeit pleased -- look on his face, and that gives Harry enough confidence to run down the row. He lifts up his hand for a high-five, and Louis looks so shocked that it would've been comical, had Harry's heart not been trying to burst out of his chest. 

Louis slowly slaps his hand against Harry's, and Harry feels a rush of warmth curl up in his chest. "Louis you're so clutch," he shouts as he walks back to his seat, and despite his volume, barely anyone could hear him, the class being too busy talking and laughing to notice. "We won!"

Harry ignores the knowing looks that Lou gives him and smiles down at his hands.

****

October

****

"You've got to calm down, man."

Harry swallows thickly and turns to look at Tom, who's walking beside him. "It's hard to do that, you know. First game of the season. And I mean like, I know I'm not starting, but. It's still scary."

Tom gives him a small smile, patting him on the back. "I gotcha bro. But you'll be fine, I promise."

Harry sighs. "Thanks, hopefully." At this point, they've gotten to the pool gate, and Tom wishes him another quick good luck before continuing on down the sloping path to the student parking lot. 

The sound of loud, excited chatter is floating over the top of the gate, which means the bleachers must be packed. Fuck. 

Harry takes a deep breath, tells himself to look straight ahead, to not look up at the crowd. If he does, he knows he'll get sick, and that'd be horrendous. 

The second he pushes open the gate, the sounds of the crowd get louder because of the lack of a barrier, but he refuses to look. He tightly grips the strap of his bag and scurries across the edge of the pool, biting his lip. 

He lets himself relax as he approaches the locker room door, pushing it open and slipping inside. It slams as it swings shut behind him, and the smell of chlorine hits Harry's nostrils. His teammates are running all around, some changing, some stretching, some playing foosball on the little table they set up in the corner. 

Suddenly, just by being here and seeing everyone, Harry gets the feeling that they might actually be able to win this. 

"Harry!" Nick calls from where he's standing by one of the lockers, still fully clothed. He must have just arrived as well. 

Harry waves and walks over to him, dropping his bag with his speedo, cap, and towel in it on a wooden bench. "Excited to play?" he asks as he slips his t-shirt over his head. 

Nick scoffs, though his reaction is a bit delayed. "As if I'm even going to be put in today. It'd be cool, yeah, but you know Coach. He's going to put Drew and the others in first."

Harry nods slowly, wrapping his towel around his waist and slipping off his shorts and boxer-briefs from underneath. He digs in his bag for his speedo, and looks up when he finds it, only to see Nick still standing there, not having started changing, with a weird expression on his face. 

He furrows his eyebrows in concern. "Y'alright Nick?"

Nick's eyes widen and he nods quickly, laughing. "Yeah, 'course. Just a bit nervous is all."

Harry nods. He can understand that. 

He shimmies his speedo on as quickly as he can with a towel still wrapped around his waist, and then removes the towel and throws it over his shoulder. "Have you got the time?" 

"Erm, yeah," Nick says quickly, from where his head is practically buried in his locker for whatever reason. He rummages through his stuff and pulls out his phone. "We've got ten," he says, still not looking at Harry.

Harry pulls a face at the back of his head, because why the fuck is he acting so weird? "Alright," he says, "I'm going to run to the bathroom."

"Okay," Nick says a bit too hurriedly, and Harry rolls his eyes before shoving all of his clothes and his bag into an empty locker -- not bothering to shut it, because who the fuck cares -- and pads off to the bathrooms. 

Despite the fact that Nick's acting quite abnormally at the moment, he's feeling substantially calmer, being with his team. Everyone's nerves are acting up, he can sense the familiar pre-game jitters, but it feels good. Exciting. 

They can do this.

****

Coach Ry tells them to start warming up, and that their pep talk is going to be afterwards this time, right before the game starts. Harry breathes deeply, bouncing on balls of his feet nervously. This is it, this is fucking it.

He's standing in the back of the group heading out the doors right now, if only to try and calm himself down the slightest bit more. He's nowhere near dreading it, but still. He can't help but be a tad bit scared.

Nick elbows him in the side lightly, giving him a grin. "Ready?"

Harry grins back, happy that Nick seems to be acting normal again, less nervous. "I was born ready," he says jokingly, and Nick barks out a laugh, walking out the door in front of Harry. 

He can hear the continuing chatter of the crowd on the bleachers as he steps out of the locker room and into the bright afternoon sunshine, but the thought of there being a big audience doesn't seem so daunting anymore. It's kind of nice, actually, that so many people came out to support them. 

He spots his mom and stepdad, Robin, waving down at him from one of the higher rows, and he smiles and waves back. He then hears a girl shout his name, and frowns slightly, scanning the bleachers for who it could possibly be -- before he spots Gemma and her boyfriend, Ashton, sitting with their friends, waving at him. He waves at them too, before joining the rest of his team where they're gathered around the home benches. 

He stretches his arms over his head before turning to Drew, punching him lightly in the arm. Drew grins at him, "This is fucking crazy, man. I'm starting! Who knew?"

Harry laughs. "You'll be great, Drew."

Coach blows the whistle for them to start their warm-up, and Harry jumps into the pool with the others, flicking his hair off to the side when he breaks the surface. He grabs a ball from the pile floating behind a barrier on the far end of the pool, and calls over to Drew for them to pair up. 

Drew paddles over to the other end of the pool, and nods to Harry, who tosses the ball to him. They continue like this for a while, Harry occasionally dipping beneath the surface and pushing his hair out of his eyes. 

After ten minutes or so, Coach Ry blows his whistle again, and Harry hops over the edge of the pool, pushing his sopping hair out of his face for the billionth time in the past minute or so. They all huddle around the benches, and Ry looks at each of their faces before he starts talking. "Okay," he says gruffly, "This is our first game of the season. We know what that means?"

The team nods, and Coach continues. "We start off strong, we continue strong. We want to wipe the floor with all of em this year, got that?"

"Yes Coach!" the team choruses. 

"You all remember what I've told you during practices?"

"Yes Coach!" they say again, and Coach nods. "Good. Now, to start I need Drew, Hale, Alex, Bryan, James, Will, and Mark, like I said before. The rest of you -- be prepared for me to swap you in at any second." 

The team nods, and Coach claps his hands together. "Let's go!"

The team lets out a collective cheer, and then the starters get into the pool, their opposing team already having gotten in. Harry walks around the edge of the bench and reaches for one of the robes resting on a plastic chair, and is slipping his left arm through the opening when his world stops. 

His eyes meet a flash of blue, and he freezes, leaning forward slightly and narrowing his eyes, because it can't be. It's his mind playing tricks on him. 

But no, it's -- it is. It is him. 

His eyes flit over Louis' face, and he sees that Louis' looking straight back at him, and his heart flutters. What is he doing here?

He hasn't talked to Louis once since that one time they played that game in Spanish class, back in September. He's looked at him plenty, though, because honestly, who wouldn't? He's fucking beautiful, and intelligent, and completely out of Harry's league. 

But anyways, the point is that he's still not had a proper conversation with him, and he's still too terrified to fucking do anything about it. 

And now, Louis' at their fucking water polo game and Harry has no fucking clue what to do with himself.

His gaze then flicks over to the boy Louis' sitting next to, and oh. Right. He's here with Zayn Malik, because Zayn has to write stories on the water polo team and their games and everything for the school newspaper. Harry knows; his friend Cal is an exec editor, just like Harry, except Cal's in charge of the sports section. He and Harry talk about story ideas all the time. Harry was the one who suggested to Cal that Zayn should take the water polo job, because he seems like the kind of guy who could handle it, do a good job.

Damn. 

Is it bad that Harry had hoped, that Louis being there could mean -- ?

No. Thoughts must stop there. 

He looks over to Louis again, and Louis' got a look of shock and something else on his face, and Harry grins. He can't help it, he can't help savoring every single second that Louis' eyes are roaming over his body. Harry snaps back into motion then, slipping his right arm into the robe as well and stretching exaggeratedly, not looking away from Louis' eyes once. 

Louis' eyes widen and he looks down at his feet, and aw, his hair is covering his face now. Harry pouts. He quite liked what they had going on there. 

Harry's suddenly happy that he's not playing right now -- probably won't end up being put in for today's game at all, actually, because their team is way too big for everyone to get to play in every game -- because Louis being there and watching him would have just added to the nerves. 

He turns back to face the pool now, smile not having left his face. The knowledge that Louis could possibly be watching him at any point in time right now has got his whole body buzzing. 

He turns back around quickly, because he can't help it, and Louis is rapidly saying something to Zayn, looking worried. Zayn's looking like he's trying not to laugh, and Harry grins, unable to stop himself. He wonders what they're talking about.

His thoughts are interrupted by Nick nudging his leg from where he's sitting on the bench. Harry jumps and turns to face him. He has a confused look on his face. "Who are you smiling at?" Nick asks curiously.

"Oh, um. My parents were saying hi and stuff," he says quietly, and Nick nods, seeming to believe him. Harry lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

He sneaks one last peek at Louis' gorgeous face, and hides his smile in his wrist.

****

They win the game.

Harry thinks, as he watches Louis file out of the pool area with Zayn and the rest of the crowd, that it's been a good day. 

He's distracted from his thoughts when Drew pulls him into the team group hug, and Harry laughs, feeling complete.


	3. Chapter 3

"You're getting into groups today and doing this worksheet. Each row is a group. Get to work."

Harry sits up slightly from where he'd been slumped over in his seat. He stops mid-yawn, because, what did Stevens just say?

He looks around the history classroom, eyelids heavy. He sees people getting up from their chairs and clustering with the people in their rows. So what Harry heard was correct then; they'd be working in groups today. 

With their rows. 

Harry swallows thickly, because that means -- that means working with Louis. 

His hands start shaking the slightest bit, and he quickly grabs his pen off of his desk and clenches it in his fist to counteract the embarrassing physical response. Fuck.

He stands up slowly, making his way over to the back of the room to grab a worksheet. He ignores the way he notices that Louis got up to do the same and is walking right behind Harry. He's still clutching his pen. 

The rest of his row seems to be gathering in a corner in the front of the room, so Harry quickly grabs his paper and makes his way over to them. He sits down in a seat, and notes, when he turns around to "check the clock" (but actually to find Louis), that Louis has sat right behind him again. Fuck. 

"So what are we doing?" a blonde girl asks the group, and Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes. Did no one else even skim over the instructions on the sheet? "Well," Harry says, his voice embarrassingly deep and rumbly because he's still practically half asleep, "we have to discuss America's foreign policy under Jefferson's presidency, so we should definitely talk about the Embargo Act."

The girl's eyes light up when she notices that Harry's talking to her, and she nods a bit too forcefully. "Yeah, that's definitely a good idea! Can you explain more about it though? I don't really know what it is."

Harry just barely stops himself from sighing and instead smiles politely at her. "Yeah, of course." He goes on to recite from memory everything he'd learned about the Embargo Act from the reading homework the night before -- which, it seems no one else actually completed, because everyone is staring at him blankly as he explains. 

Well, everyone except Louis, but that's not a surprise. 

They end up finishing the classwork rather quickly, Harry doing most of the talking and everyone else merely copying down what he's saying. Harry is just starting to fill out the last Cause/Effect box when a loud, booming voice distracts him. 

"Hey Louis! Have you started the homework?"

Harry freezes up, clenching his pen tightly again. He uses his other hand to grip the side of the desk in a way that he hopes goes unnoticed. 

He can see Niall walking over to them out of the corner of his eye. Harry wants to turn around so badly, but he can't draw attention to himself, to this. He's a fucking mess. 

"What homework, Niall?" Louis asks in a soft voice, and Harry's heart melts. He can feel the goosebumps forming up and down his arms, and shit, who gave Louis the fucking right? Harry feels like he's been dropped in the middle of an ice skating rink without skates. He's tripping over his own feet and can't keep himself upright, his mind is a slushy mess and he's got fucking goosebumps and this is ridiculous.

"The history stuff due tomorrow! We have to finish our group project, write the papers, and do those three other worksheets, remember?" Niall teases him affectionately. 

Harry presses his lips together, staring blankly at the last blank box on his worksheet. Niall's lucky. Niall gets to talk to Louis whenever he wants. Niall probably hangs out with Louis after school and on the weekends. Niall is Louis' friend. 

Harry wants to be Louis' friend. 

He swallows thickly and tries to ignore the jealousy thrumming through his veins. This is irrational. He needs to stop. 

"Ugh, I haven't started those!" Louis says sadly, and Harry's heart clenches, buzzing for a moment before continuing to beat erratically. "I haven't even finished reading the entire unit!"

And then something comes over Harry, because he can't fucking handle listening to Louis talk to Niall like this any longer. Niall is attractive, very much so, and the fact that he's one of Louis' best friends makes Harry's world turn red. 

Harry wants to see Louis' eyes trained on him.

He turns around without consciously realizing it, eyes locking with Louis'. He's momentarily distracted by how sleep-soft Louis looks, the blue in his irises still a tad bit clouded with exhaustion, eyelids slightly puffy. He's wearing a gray sweater that Harry wants to bury his face into (is that creepy?) and his fringe is adorably messy. Harry's heart tries to leap out of his chest. 

"Me too!" Harry's mouth moves before he can even process it himself, and he immediately regrets it, because he wasn't even involved in the fucking conversation -- they're probably so annoyed with him now. 

Louis' face is one of complete and utter surprise, so Harry hurries to continue. "I have to read two chapters too! And write the essays!"

The two boys are silent for a split second, Niall looking confused and Louis looking shocked. Everything seems to slow down to a standstill -- and then suddenly, with an exhale, everything starts moving again. "Oh my gosh," Louis says -- yes, this is what Louis says, Louis says this to Harry, this is the first time Louis has willingly said anything to Harry, holy shit, "It's going to be so awful, I have no idea what I'm going to do." He's looking at Harry and smiling and Harry can't get over the fact that Louis' gaze is for him, that his smile is for him. 

"Same," Harry says, a tad bit breathless, "It's going to be a long night." And shit, that sounded suggestive, didn't it? Fuck. 

Harry turns around quickly, face hot, because that nosedived way too quickly. He had been doing so well too, shit.

He shouldn't have said that, fuck, why did he say that? He can't hear anything over the pounding of blood in his ears. He stares at his paper, and instead of finishing his worksheet, starts retracing his name in the top right hand corner. He goes over it with pen so many times that it bleeds through the paper, until he actually tears a hole into it. 

He clenches the side of the desk again. Fuck.

****

He needs to redeem himself. Louis probably thinks he's an idiot -- which he is, because he said some pretty stupid shit. And he seriously cannot have Louis thinking he's an idiot. 

He's standing next to Lou's desk in Spanish, after the class has peer-graded each other's tests and have handed them in, and is listening to her talk about whatever. He's thinking about how to start a conversation with Louis in a way that won't make him look stupid. He's got to do this just right, he's got to -- 

"Excuse me." He hears a timid voice say from behind him, with a light tap on his shoulder. 

Harry practically jumps out of his skin, because that's Louis, and he's standing in the middle of the fucking row and blocking Louis' way. "Oh, sorry!" he says in a voice about seven octaves higher than his usual tone, and fuck, he's not doing a very good job of being not-stupid, is he?

But then Louis' walking away, and Harry can't have that. "Wait, Louis!" he calls out after him, and Louis looks over his shoulder. Harry wishes he had a camera on him, because in that moment, Louis looks like a fucking model. The image before him is a perfect candid; Harry would plaster it over every billboard in the country if he could. 

Louis stops walking. "Yeah?" His gaze is wary. Harry doesn't blame him. He probably thinks Harry's an idiot. Shit. "I'm so bogged down for history tonight," is all that Harry manages to come up with, giving Louis a shy smile. "I don't even know what I'm going to do."

Louis turns around, fully facing Harry now. It makes Harry nervous. "Me too!" he says quickly, "I did some of my worksheets during fourth period though, so at least I've got those out of the way!"

He's smiling at Harry now. Harry wants to start a festival or parade or throw a party or do something, in honor of that grin.

"Oh my gosh, so did I! I still have to write my essays though!" This is a blatant lie. Harry did both the worksheets and the essays in his own fourth period class today. Harry tries not to feel bad about it, shrugging off the remorse, because he's lying for a good cause. That's all that matters, right? 

Yeah. No big deal. 

"I do too, I'm so not looking forward to those. And reading is going to suck tonight." Harry blushes as soon as Louis finishes that sentence, because his thoughts immediately stumble into the gutter. That's not the only thing that should suck tonight, because Harry really wants to s--

No. Fucking hell, he's got to stop. He hopes Louis doesn't notice how frazzled he is right now. 

"Ugh, I have so much of that too!" Harry knows he probably sounds overly enthusiastic at the moment, but he can't for the life of him remember how to converse like a normal person. "Around forty pages, I think." This, at least, isn't a lie. He really does have a lot of reading to do. 

"And I have an environmental science test tomorrow too, so...kinda screwed," Louis sing-songs, and Harry laughs. He knows he's grinning stupidly right now, but he can't help it, can't stop himself. 

"That's so rough," Harry says quietly, and Louis opens his mouth to say something, but then Lou is tapping on his arm. He grimaces and turns to her to tell her that he's in the middle of another conversation at the moment, when --

"So, you said before that you didn't have feelings for him? None at all?" she says, smirking. 

Harry fishmouths, blushing, and then looks back over to Louis -- only to find that Louis' walking away. Fuck. 

He furrows his brows at Lou. "Why did you do that?" he hisses quietly. "That was the longest conversation I've ever had with him and you ruined it!"

"I had to save you," Lou teases, "You were so fucking obvious. There might as well have been hearts coming out of your eyes."

Harry slouches over, sinking into his seat. He pouts. "Shit," he says, sighing. Lou's smile turns sympathetic, as she reaches over to pat him on the arm. "If it makes you feel any better, he didn't seem to notice?"

Harry groans, burying his face in his hands. "What am I going to do?" he whines. "He's so smart, and his friends are so intimidating, and I'm just me, Lou. He's going to think I'm one of those idiots whose only real skill is throwing a ball around a pool. I'm not a dumb jock!"

"He doesn't think that," Lou says firmly. "You've got to stop assuming that he doesn't give a shit about you. He was smiling like crazy throughout your entire conversation, H."

"No," Harry waves her comment off. "I need to give this up. It's never going to happen. We run in different circles, Lou. I'm friends with a bunch of idiotic athletes and he's friends with intelligent people. He won't want to have anything to do with someone like me, because he thinks I'm one of them. I don't even know him, for Christ's sake, and he doesn't know me. You have to know someone to like them, don't you? Which means that I don't like him. This is just, some weird infatuation thing. It's only because he's attractive. It's like, the same way people love celebrities, like boyband members and stuff. If I don't know him, I can't actually have feelings for him."

"But that's not true, people can -- "

"I'd really appreciate it," he cuts her off, "If you didn't fight me on this. Just -- just leave it, okay? This conversation is over."

Lou sighs. "If you say so," she says quietly, and Harry gives her a tiny nod. "Thank you," he says quietly, and that is that.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry and Louis have a test.

Harry made sure to get to their history class a full five minutes early -- which, yeah, is a pretty crazy achievement for him -- because it's a pretty important test, and Louis wasn't there.

There's maybe one or two minutes left before the bell rings now, and Louis still isn't there.

If Louis is late, he won't be able to take the test. If Louis is late, he will have to take a makeup test and get knocked down an entire letter grade, regardless of how well he does. 

Harry bites his lip, eyeing the clock. He's not worried. Not at all. That'd be weird, to be worried in such a stalk-y manner. 

Right?

Harry starts picking at his fingernails. Right. 

(And if he glances at the clock every now and then as he does so, well, he doesn't need to admit it to anyone. Let alone himself.)

And then Louis rushes into the room, a blur of light and color shining through the gray that Harry feels is constantly hanging over their classroom. 

(And if Harry sighs in relief, then again, he doesn't need to admit it.)

Harry stands up to turn in his papers, and as he's walking back to his seat, he walks right by Louis. His arm brushes against Louis', and he holds back a shiver. He's in control. 

The bell then rings, a high-pitched, irritating tone. Harry sighs, because he really doesn't want to take this fucking test. 

"Everyone sit down, nothing but pencils on your desks please!" Stevens says loudly before passing out the tests, and Harry rolls his eyes.

Here goes nothing.

****

When Harry walks into Spanish that afternoon, he finds that he's early. Over half of the class hasn't even arrived yet, and Ms. Felise is still sitting at her desk in the corner, looking at something on her laptop while finishing her lunch. 

Harry makes his way over to his desk, dropping his backpack onto the floor next to it. He then stretches, because he feels stiff and doesn't want to sit down quite yet. He's pretty much over this day, just wants to go home and do nothing for a while. 

Drew then walks in, and waves at Harry. Harry smiles. "Hey man," he says as Drew sits down in his seat -- which, happens to be the seat right in front of Louis'. (Harry might be walking over to stand by Drew's desk right now to talk to him as a sort of strategy, to hopefully have a future conversation with Louis when he eventually gets to class. That's normal, isn't it? Not creepy?)

"Hey Harry," Drew says, sinking down into his seat with a sigh. He's holding a sandwich, and scrunches his nose at it. "I'm not really hungry, do you want this?" he says suddenly, and Harry's stomach growls. He didn't eat lunch, so this is practically a gift from god. "Yeah sure, thanks," Harry says, trying to hide his excitement. "What kind of sandwich is it?"

"Turkey. It's good, I promise. It's just, Hale had pizza and he had a couple of extra slices, so he gave them to me, and I'm really full."

Harry laughs. "Can't turn down pizza," he says before he takes a bite. He hums appreciatively. Drew was right; it's a really good sandwich. 

Drew then asks Harry about the water polo practice they have that afternoon, and Harry answers him in between bites of sandwich. He's so focused on the conversation they're having that he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a familiar tap on his shoulder. 

He tenses up slightly, leans over a bit so that Louis can walk by. He's fine. Really. Like he said to Lou before, this isn't a thing. He's not into Louis. It's a weird infatuation thing. He's over it. 

(But not really, not really at all.)

Drew is still talking, but Harry is watching Louis sit down. Harry watches Louis adjust his sweater, run a hand through his hair. He watches Louis' small frame fidget in his seat, tries to suppress the urge to just go over there and take his hand, do something.

Then Louis looks up, and Harry's heart leaps up into his throat. 

The blue eyes study Harry's face for a moment before quickly flicking away. Harry doesn't like that, wanted to look into Louis' eyes for a moment longer.

So he does something about it. 

"Louis," he hears himself say. He doesn't know where the fuck he's going with this, he just wants to look into Louis' eyes again. 

Louis looks up slowly, and Harry's heart starts pounding when his blues focus on him. He gives Harry a small smile, and Harry swears his heart stops for a moment. 

"Hi Harry," he says quietly, and Harry wants to squeal at the way Louis says his name. It shouldn't be so attractive, but fuck, it really really is. 

Then Harry realizes that he's supposed to carry out a conversation, and he feels panic start to build, because he didn't plan this far ahead. 

He says the first thing that comes to mind. "What'd you think of the test?" He feels as though his panic is obvious on his face; he can't focus, his hands are slightly shaking, he's a mess.

Louis smiles. "...Let's not even talk about it," he says, and Harry laughs. He sees Louis' smile get bigger then, and feels something hopeful bloom in his chest.

"But seriously though," Louis continues, "I didn't read any of chapter twelve, so I got every single question about the War of 1812 wrong."

Harry nods in agreement. "Those were the hardest part! I mean, I read all of the chapters," and wait fuck he sounds pretentious now doesn't he, he's got to fix that -- "but I still thought that was the hardest part of the test!" Much better. He sounds really eager though, and he knows it. Fuck. He can't control himself.

Louis smiles though, so it doesn't seem like he notices the fact that Harry can't for the life of him get himself together. "It was seriously ridiculous."

And then Harry opens his mouth to continue the conversation, when -- 

"Are you guys talking about the history test?"

Fucking Lou.

Harry does his best to shoot Lou a low-key glare, and nods. 

Harry can see a glint of mischief in her eye, and sighs quietly. "I thought it was easy," she says nonchalantly.

"I don't know," Louis says then, "I mean, I thought it was pretty hard."

Harry turns to look at Louis and nods. "So did I," he says, turning back around to glare at Lou once more. She smiles sneakily and shrugs, turning around to walk back to her desk. Harry follows her, sighing. 

"Why do you keep doing that?" he hisses as soon as they're in their seats. 

"I'm telling you," she whispers back, "There comes a point in time during your converstaions with him in which you literally look like you'd jump off a cliff for him. That makes you seem super obvious and super whipped. Do you want him to know you like him?"

"I don't like him!" Harry whispers back, and Lou rolls her eyes. "Whatever, Harry. I was doing you a favor."

Harry flips her off and then turns back around just in time, because the bell rings, Ms. Felise starts class, and Harry snickers into his wrist when he hears Lou scoff from behind him. 

****

Harry is walking through the locker hall with Nick at break the next day, telling Nick a story about an encounter he had at a lake last weekend, where he saw a dog carrying a rubber boob. The dog's owner called the rubber boob a "mammary," which literally made Harry's week, and he's been telling all of his friends about it, because it was that funny. Nick is smiling, rolling his eyes at Harry, telling Harry that Harry isn't funny. Harry throws his hands out in front of him with a giggle and tells Nick to "shut the fuck up, because this is definitely really funny and you're being a prick," but he doesn't hear Nick's response, because Louis.

He swallows thickly, because Louis is standing right there in the locker hall, holding a bag of pretzel and leaning against the wall of lockers next to Zayn. But that's not even the most important part. 

No, the most important part, is that Louis is looking at him.

When Harry turned and saw Louis, Louis was already watching him. And if that isn't the best thing in the entire world, Harry doesn't know what is.

He looks away after a few more beats, back to Nick, who is watching him expectantly. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

Nick raises his eyebrows at him, eyes flickering towards where Louis and Zayn are standing. "Were you just staring at Louis Tomlinson?"

Harry feels his face heat up. "What are you talking about?"

Nick's mouth falls open. "You were."

Harry shakes his head feebly, and Nick clenches his jaw, then snorts. "Whatever, H. Whatever."

(If there's the barest hint of malice in Nick's tone, Harry ignores it, because he's probably kidding, right?)

As they're nearing the door out of the locker hall, Harry hears a loud bark of laughter from a ways away, loud enough for him to be curious. He briefly turns around and looks back, but there are people filling the hallway now, because break's almost over. He shrugs and keeps walking.

****

During third period, Harry briefly asks to be excused to use the restroom. He decides to go to the one in the locker hall -- the same one he and Nick had been walking through during break -- because it's the one nearest to his classroom. 

As he's walking through the hallway, he steps on something. He looks down from where he'd been scrolling through Twitter on his phone, and sees that it's a pretzel -- and then he looks around a bit and sees that he's standing in the midst of a bunch of scattered pretzels on the floor, some half-crushed from people having stepped on them. 

He furrows his eyebrows. What idiot decided to dump all of these on the floor?

He then stops walking. Wasn't Louis eating pretzels, during break?

He pauses to think for a moment, and then snorts, continuing to walk with a small smile on his face and a fond roll of his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey," Nick says quietly as Harry gets into the car, slamming the door shut behind him. His eyes are puffy with sleep, but his smile is genuine, small and soft.

"Hi," Harry says with a wide smile, carefully buckling himself into the car in such a way that won't wrinkle his collared shirt. He spent ages ironing it the night before; hell if he's going to let a two minute car ride fuck it up.

"Nice bow tie," Nick says with a laugh. He shifts gears and pulls away from the curb, yawning into his hand. Harry lights up. "Thank you! Been wanting to wear it for ages, but hadn't had the chance until today. It's quite exciting, actually."

Nick rolls his eyes. "Aren't you a bit cheerful this morning?"

Harry ducks his head and smiles to himself. "Always cheerful in the mornings!"

"Yes I know, it's irritating. But you're especially chipper today, which is odd, considering that we're up earlier than usual. What's got you all excited?"

Another chance to see Louis. "Oh, I don't know. Probably the fact that they're giving us food at this ceremony thing, whatever it is."

Nick nods, turning left onto the street of their school. "Good reason. Do you think there'll be donuts? Or will they be lousy and only buy us bagels?"

"Knowing our school, there'll just be bagels. God forbid they give us anything we might actually want."

Harry's heart pounds a tad bit harder as Nick pulls into the parking lot. 

****

The first thing Harry notices when he walks into the cafeteria is that there are pink boxes on the refreshment table, which means donuts. Yes.

The second thing Harry notices is Louis talking to Zayn, and his heart falls straight through his body and onto the floor. It sits there, spurting out fear and nerves, as Nick asks Harry a question that Harry doesn't hear. 

"Sorry, what?" 

Nick gives him a look. "You're a little scattered. Did you have too much coffee this morning?"

"None, actually."

"And yet you're still a mess."

Harry adjusts his bowtie, grinning at Nick as he does so. "I'm always a mess, Nicholas. I expected you to know this already."

Nick rolls his eyes. "Ever so sorry, Harold. How could I have forgotten?"

"No idea," Harry responds absentmindedly, eyes flickering over to Louis. Their eyes meet, and Harry quickly looks away. 

"Hey, I think people are starting to line up over there," Nick says. "We should probably go."

Harry nods, and doesn't take his eyes off of Louis as they walk over. 

****

Standing in line to go inside and get seating assignments before all of the parents arrive is a bit hectic. 

It's bad enough that the teachers running this whole thing are out of sorts, because there's not enough time to make sure everything goes smoothly and they were stupid enough to not have a rehearsal or something — as per usual, with this school. It's even worse that he has to deal with knowing that Louis is standing a little ways away behind him in the line, talking to an assortment of people.

Obviously, Harry can't help but turn around every once in a while, just to get a peek.

Louis is wearing a pale blue collared shirt, one that makes his eyes look deeper and brighter. It fits his form well too, and Harry finds it difficult to keep his eyes off of him.

Well. More difficult than usual, he should say.

And Nick isn't making it easier for him. He's talking to Harry about things that Harry couldn't really care less about, and keeps getting frustrated with Harry for "not listening," which, psh. Please. Not like Harry's doing it on purpose.

He glances at Louis again, and he swears his heart stops when their eyes meet. Do Harry's eyes deceive him, or did Louis just turn pink upon making eye contact with Harry?

Harry bites his lip to hold back a smile as he absentmindedly fiddles with his sleeves and looks down at the ground.

****

"Alright Mr. Styles, you will be sitting right here," says a slightly hectic Ms. Warren. Harry scurries over to the seat that she pointed out, and she nods breathlessly, turning to the next student and directing her to her seat.

Harry sighs and stares out the window blankly as he waits. None of his friends are sitting in his row, so it's not like he has anyone to talk to. It looks like it's going to be sunny today, he notes privately. Good. Practice will be slightly dreadful after school, then, provided it stays sunny.

His dreadfully boring internal monologue is disrupted, however, with another sounding of Ms. Warren's shrill voice. "Mr. Tomlinson, follow me please!"

He wants to turn around desperately, to watch and see where Louis' going to end up. He doesn't, though, instead opting to take his phone out of his pocket. He has no new text messages, obviously, being so early in the morning and all. He absentmindedly scrolls through past text messages to seem like he's doing something, though, or else he'll turn around and he can't do that. Can't.

He hears Warren's heels clacking against the polished linoleum floor, followed by softer-sounding steps. "You will be sitting here," she says from somewhere very close to Harry, and Harry can't handle it anymore.

He locks his phone and turns around, and — of fucking course — sees Louis sliding into the seat directly behind him.

Literally, directly behind him.

He turns around again slowly, facing forward in his seat and trying to bite back his smile for what feels like the millionth time today. This is wonderful, this is so so wonderful.

After a few more minutes of sitting there, silent excitement echoing through his mind and buzzing through his veins, Warren clears her throat loudly. "Alright, now you know where you will be sitting! Please turn to your left and right and remember who is sitting next to you, and what row you are in, so that you don't forget where you're supposed to be when the ceremony starts — which will be in about 15 minutes now, so hopefully you can remember for at least that long."

Harry rolls his eyes.

"Alright, everyone outside again please! We are going to let our guests in now! Hurry hurry!"

Harry rolls his eyes again and sighs, and shuffles out of the row along with everyone else.

****

The ceremony began twenty minutes ago, Warren is still up at the podium giving her speech, and Harry is falling asleep.

It's such a problem too, because he's sitting in the very front row and he has to look super engaged and interested when at the moment, he's anything but. He's tired and nervous because Louis is sitting right behind him. It's making him anxious.

He wants to talk to him, but he doesn't know what he'd say.

So naturally, he resorts to talking to everyone around him that he possibly can, in hopes that Louis will initiate some sort of conversation.

"Larson, this has been going on for ages," he mutters over his shoulder, and he hears Larson's quiet laugh. Louis says nothing.

He continues trying to talk to Larson every few minutes as Warren drones on and on, occasionally daring to slightly turn around and look at him and Louis. He consistently makes eye contact with Louis, but Louis doesn't say a word to him. And so Harry doesn't say a word to Louis.

It's quite frustrating actually.

Then Warren finally stops talking, and they start presenting the awards. Harry sits up a little straighter in his seat. This is the important part, the only thing he really has to do during this entire ceremony. 

He glances down the row, making sure that there's nothing he could potentially trip over when he's called to walk up to the front. There's a girl sitting a few seats down from him who, for whatever reason, brought a purse that's sitting right in front of her feet — which is fucking stupid, if you ask Harry. With his luck, he'll walk by and trip over it.

He's trying to formulate a path in his mind as to how exactly he's going to get around that obstacle without looking like a complete fool when — 

"Harry Styles," Warren calls into the microphone, and shit.

Alright. Deep breaths. He can do this.

He takes a quick moment to fix his bow tie before standing up, pasting a huge smile on his face as he approaches the podium. He vaguely remembers hearing the sound of applause, but it's drowned out in the moment by the blood pounding in his ears. He remembers to carefully step over the purse, and doesn't fall or stumble once, thankfully. She shakes Warren's hand, thanks her, and then sits down shakily. Phew.

By the time he's calmed himself down from that terrifying experience, Warren's shrill voice catches his attention once more. "Louis Tomlinson," she calls out, and Harry's lips instinctively turn up into a small smile, before he gets himself under control.

Louis looks wonderful and confident as he walks up there, his smile brighter than anything as he shakes Warren's hand. And his cheekbones — how is it even possible to be so fucking attractive?

Harry huffs out an impatient breath and refuses to watch Louis walk back to sit down, doesn't let himself. This is too fucking much.


End file.
